No One is Searching for a Dead Man
by xmiss-anthrope
Summary: Post-Reichenbach. Molly helps Sherlock with his fall, and months later, they're both on the run. Or something. Not sure where this is going quite yet. I need a new title. Some hints of Sherlock/Irene but if that's not your cup of tea, no worries.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Wow! New fanfiction! I'm excited. This is shaping up to be a bit longer than my other Sherlolly bit, as I'm already forming little ghost chapters in my head. Also maybe not so much fluff but then my plans for that always fail so whatever. If any smut comes about in any of my stories, which is unlikely but hey, I've started a Sherlock/Irene one so maybe? It will go under the author 'mademoiselle anthrope.' Original, I know. Again, this is all un-beta'd. Anywho, love you all very much. xM

Disclaimer: All rights to BBC and its writers etc., where due. I make no profit.

"I'll be out of your flat by morning." Sherlock assured Molly. "I'm sorry. For all of this, and for dragging you into it."

Molly shook her head. "It's fine, really. You would have died, and that wasn't an option. Obviously." Her voice was warm but she looked exhausted; the circles under her eyes matched the bruise on Sherlock's cheek. "We'll talk more in the morning, okay?"

He gave her a weary smile, but didn't respond. She handed him sheets for the sofa and went to her own room.

Molly tossed and turned before falling asleep, and when she finally drifted off, her dreams were illed with Sherlock falling, falling, falling...

When she awoke and went to make a cup of coffee before work, she found the flat empty, the sheets on the sofa nearly folded, and Sherlock's coat gone.

Five months later, the former consulting detective had dyed his hair blond and wore it slicked back. Gone was the blue scarf and fashionable black coat; instead he wore dark jeans and a hooded sweater, the hood pulled up, casting a shadow over his face. He was back in London after chasing one of Moriarty's henchmen through most of America and part of Italy. He sat on the tube, trying to look as if he wasn't paying attention.

_Affair, asthma, software designer, dying (cancer?), Bart's (pathology?)..._

At that last deduction, his head snapped up, sending the hood of his jacket flying off. He managed to shove it back over his head, but not before Molly had seen him. She stared for a moment and then quickly averted her eyes, looking steadily at something just over the asthmatic man's head. Her expression was calm, but Sherlock could feel her yearning to look at him again.

Two stops later, Molly got off the train and checked to see if Sherlock was following her.

He was, of course.

When they finally reached her street, darker and narrow, she stopped to wait for him.

"You came back." She said, sounding breathless, when he finally reached her. "And you're blond. With glasses!"

Sherlock nodded and pulled off the rectangular, prescriptionless frames, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "I've got to disguise myself."

"It's not very good." Molly said, eyeing him critically.

He frowned. "Well, it's not as if anyone is really looking for me. People don't look for dead men." He followed her into her flat. "But still, it wouldn't do to have people see me walking around."

She nodded and dropped her purse on the sofa. "So, you're back in London. Does this mean you're coming back for real?" She gave him a hopeful glance.

He shook his head. "Soon, maybe, but not yet. I've still got one more of Moriarty's men to take down." His eyes flickered to the corner of the room. "Tell me, Molly, have you been seeing anyone lately?"

Molly frowned at the abrupt change of topic. "Yes, we met at Bart's a few weeks ago. He's lovely."

"What's he like, other than 'lovely'?"

"Tall, clever – not as much as you of course – nice... Why?"

Sherlock didn't respond. He was already climbing up onto a chair and shifting things on a shelf.

"Could you please not mess up my books?" She requested, irritation creeping into her tone.

"Break up with that man, Molly." He told her, stepping off the chair and holding a small, black object he had pried from behind a picture frame.

"Sorry, what?"

Sherlock tossed her the object, a miniscule camera.

"He's one of Moriarty's people. And now he knows that I'm here, and that you're assisting me, so we should go. How far is his flat from here?"

Molly's eyes widened. "Twenty minutes by foot, fifteen by cab." She stammered and Sherlock gave her a curt not.

"Pack a bag, Molly, we've got to leave." She didn't question this, but ran to her room and began to toss things in a backpack. On a whim, she threw in the cherry cardigan he had despised and the lipstick, which he had once complimented her on.

Twenty minutes later, they were at a train station, Sherlock paying for two Eurostar tickets to France with a wad of money he had pulled from his bag. Credit cards were too easily traced.

Only when they were securely seated on the train did Molly dare to speak. "Where are we going?"

Sherlock smirked. "To see an old friend."

A/N: Can you guess who it is? I can! Hope to update soon, love you all.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Hello! I would have updated earlier, but I left the first half of this chapter somewhere and can't find it, so I'm going by memory now, which is bad. I hope you're enjoying this! I know I love writing it. None of you guessed Sherlock's 'old friend,' but ye who said things about the Doctor, you are all wonderful.**

**Disclaimer: All rights reserved for BBC and its writers etc., I make no money off of this piece.**

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Just as Molly began to drift off to sleep, the train jerked to a stop and Sherlock hurried her off of it and into a waiting cab, directing the driver, in seemingly flawless French, to an unfamiliar address.

Some minutes later, the cab slowed and Sherlock handed the driver an exorbitant sum.

Molly looked up at the building, a tall stone affair with wrought iron balconies.

"Who d'you know who lives in Paris?" She asked, but got no response. Sherlock pressed on the doorbell.

Moments later, there was the sound of a bold being drawn back and the door opened on a surprisingly familiar face.

"Mr Holmes!" Irene Adler said, her face calm but her tone excited. "And Miss Hooper. What a pleasant surprise."

"Ms Adler. May we come in?" Irene nodded and led the way into the darkened vestibule.

"We need a place to stay for a bit; Miss Hooper here didn't realise she was dating Sebastian Moran." Sherlock explained. "I take it that you two don't need to be introduced?"

"We had the pleasure of meeting last Christmas." Irene smiled at Molly, who blushed. Irene had needed a body. She had reminded Molly so strikingly of Sherlock.

"I know." He smirked, and Molly's cheeks burned hotter than before.‑

"So, you've got Moran after you?" Irene asked, kicking off her heels and settling onto the sofa, gesturing for her company to be seated too. "Well, I certainly don't envy you that. He's a nasty piece of work. Moriarty's right-hand man. I met him a few times last year..." She gave a theatrical shudder and Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"I am aware. I'm not here for your information about Mr Moran, although if you do have anything more specific about him, I'd be happy to hear it." Irene nodded and tapped something into her phone. "We need a place to stay, like I said. I take it you have room" He said, glancing up the stairs.

"For you, yes. But I will have clients, you know." Irene looked apologetic, but her eyes and voice were laughing.

"Cancel them."

"If I cancel them, I can't pay the rent. Then none of us will have a place to stay, and I daresay Mr Moran would like to have my head as well."

"Fine." Sherlock sounded vaguely annoyed. "What do you still have clients? I would have thought you would have known better, after Karachi..."

Irene rolled her eyes. "You were practically forced to kill yourself and as a result, you've had to hide from the world, but are you going to stop solving cases when you come back from the dead? I think not."

Sherlock shrugged. "Point taken. We'll see the rooms then?"

"I take it you'll be needing separate ones?"

"Of course we want separate rooms." He said, his voice reminiscent of John's when he had first arrived at 221B.

"Just checking." Irene winked at Molly, who turned her head away quickly, cheeks still red.

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**Gosh, sorry this is so short. I hope you enjoyed reading it and I hope to put up more soon. Although all of a sudden I am lacking in inspiration. Love you all for your kind reviews, etc.! xM**


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Happy April fools, dear readers! Or just April. Whatever you want. Sorry for not updating lately; I only write during classes and it was spring holidays. And then I was worried that I had "lost my muse" as some put it, but then I found a tidbit that I'd written before I left and then it went from there. This chapter's quite short, but I'll update soon, as I've already written the next chapter. Cheers! xM

Disclaimer: I make no profit from this story, the characters are not mine, all rights to BBC, its writers, Conan-Doyle etc. where due.

"She's just like you, you know. Irene, I mean." Molly said as they sat down to a breakfast of pain au chocolat at the pâtisserie across the street.

"Am I really..." Sherlock replied, sounding distracted. He had a newspaper open, but he wasn't looking at it, finding it far more interesting to make deductions about passersby, informing Molly of anything interesting.

"That's whose mobile phone you were x-raying, wasn't it? Irene's?" She asked as he looked over an old man with a very fat dog.

"Mm, oh yes." Sherlock said, still not focusing.

Molly smirked. "So, I was close then. About it being your girlfriend's. You never actually denied it, you know. Just asked me if I thought so because you was x-raying her things.

He turned to face her, glaring. "Irene and I are _not _romantically involved, as much as she may like to be. Once, after I saved her life, she – and, perhaps, I – were feeling emotionally overwhelmed, and we..." he broke off, his cheeks slightly pink. Molly frowned, unsure of what he meant, and then turned bright red when she understood.

"But it wasn't love." He insisted, his voice rising. "Or at least it wasn't, for me. It was just one night."

Molly stared at her plate, now devoid of anything but anything other than pastry crumbs. "It's fine, honestly, Sherlock. I don't need to know." She assured him, feeling anything but fine. She did care, and she hated that she did but it was undeniable. She'd been with him while he was 'emotionally overwhelmed,' while she was. And she had seen the way he looked at Irene, like she was a mystery he could solve. It was so similar to how he looked during his cases, but there was something else too.

She bit her lip.

"Really, Molly."

Molly nodded. "Right. Okay. Well, I should- I should call into work. I'll tell them it's a family emergency. Or on holiday. I've never gone on holiday..."

He sighed. "You can't call in. Calls can be traced. It would be child's play for our Mr Moran."

Her own sigh echoed his. "Of course, I know."

"We should go back to the flat."

"Okay."

Sherlock threw down a few euros and rose from the table, leading Molly back to Irene's flat.

Sorry, there will be continuing hints of Sherlock/Irene. But never fear, Sherlolly shippers. That's all I'm saying. *skips off, tossing confetti and bricks*


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Surprise! Two chapters in one day. I'm crazy, but the last one was short. Enjoy.

**Disclaimer: Yo poseo nada. Okay, I own nothing and I don't even know if I said that correctly even after ten years of Spanish classes.**

"I've been thinking, it's probably best that we disguise you as well. Mr Moran could have people – no, definitely has people – looking for you, and you need a cover story... and different clothing."

Molly self-consciously wrapped her arms around her awful cherry-covered cardigan, which she knew had prompted Sherlock's comment. "O-okay." She stammered, unsure whether to feel insulted or not. "What did you have in mind?"

Sherlock thought a moment. "Well, it would be best if we were to masquerade as a recently married couple on honeymoon – but we can certainly go with something different, if you'd like." He added, seeing the look on her face.

"Oh, er..." She began, sounding a bit shaky. His plan had taken her by surprise. "Well, I was thinking more of 'friends on holiday together' but I guess- I guess your plan is fine too?"

"That was my initial thought as well, but there are too many flaws. It's the wrong time for a holiday and the fact that we are of the opposite sex would cause people to assume that we were either secretly romantically involved anyway, or that we were in denial. I finally concluded that a honeymoon would explain us being together and you being an tourist in Paris."

"And you don't need an explanation for being a tourist?" Molly asked, sounding slightly waspish, annoyed with his phrasing.

He shrugged. "My French is flawless. So, any other ideas?"

She shook her head. "Newlyweds it will be." She said softly

"You do understand that this means we will have to behave, in public, as newlyweds might. This may include hand-holding, kissing, and general canoodling."

Molly couldn't help but let out a giggle at his phrase 'general canoodling,' as well as at the look of displeasure on his face as the words left his mouth.

"Yes?" Sherlock said, raising his eyebrows.

"Sorry, you just-" Molly swallowed her laughter. "I'll shut up."

He frowned, but continued. "If we stay at a hotel, you realise that it is likely that we will have to share a bed. Do you believe that you can do that?"

She hesitated, mulling this over, and then nodded, still slightly shaky. This was the type of thing she had fantasized over just weeks earlier, but now that she was faced with it, the prospect of sleeping with Sherlock Holmes, even if it wasn't in _that _sense, terrified her. "I think I can do it, yes. And it won't be for so long, really..." She lapsed into silence, leaning back into Irene's expensive sofa.

"I'll find him as quickly as I possibly can and dispose of him." Sherlock said, wincing slightly.

Molly nodded, curling her feet under her, trying to ignore the fact that Sherlock had been forced to become a murderer.

Okay, I know the whole honeymoon thing has been done, but I thought about it and I couldn't think of a better explanation. So, there you have it. Much love. xM


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Thank you for all your lovely reviews! They make my day. Like, so much you don't know. I get all glow-y and excited. Guest: I'm sorry for hitting you with a brick! Just tossing confetti alone though is too mainstream. Renaissancebooklover108: I'm pretty sure that was sarcasm. Was that sarcasm? If so, ouch, that stings. But you're right. I'M SORRY. (also I like the Renaissance and books. So friends maybe?) Anywho. Hope to upload more soon! I feel as if I need action-y bits and I'm bad at those Ugh. Cheers! xM

**Disclaimer: Do I have to write these, still? It isn't mine. Just, stop asking.**

They had been at Irene's flat for a fortnight before Sherlock announced that it was time to leave.

"Where are we going?" Molly asked, nervous for their charade to truly begin. Irene had taken her shopping earlier in the week; an experience that Molly had grudgingly agreed to, worried that she might be assumed a client of Irene's. She had been surprisingly gentle, however, and Molly returned from the expedition with a suitcase full of clothing that she wasn't unhappy to own. Other than the lingerie that Irene had insisted she buy, that is. Molly had sworn that they would never see the light of day.

"We're staying just outside of France, in a small town. Moran's nearby and I can't stand this flat any longer." He gave the floor a vicious glare.

"Will we be going as an, um, couple?" Molly bit her lip when he nodded.

"Of course. In fact, we should have been doing so for the past week."

"Sorry."

He shrugged as if to say that it wasn't her fault. "We're leaving tonight, so you'd best pack. I trust you've brought a proper suitcase?"

When packing was finished, Irene saw them off. She gave Molly a peck on the cheek and attempted to do so for Sherlock as well, but he avoided it.

"Until next time, Mr Holmes."

"Sorry about dinner." He smirked, and Irene ignored him.

"Molly, you're welcome to call me if you need anything." She said, and with another quick kiss to the pathologist, this time on the lips, leaving Molly looking confused, she shut the door. There was the sound of the lock and then silence.

Sherlock wrapped his arm around her waist, ushering her to the awaiting car. He didn't let go either, and didn't protest when she leaned against him and drifted off to sleep.

Some time later, Molly was shaken awake. They were at a small hotel, brightly lit against the deepening twilight.

"We've a room reserved? Under Watson?" Sherlock said to the woman at the front desk. His tone was softer, slower, and he gave the woman behind the desk in the lobby a smile. Molly could tell it was fake, but she didn't think the woman could. In fact, she might not have known any better if she wasn't aware that their entire situation was a lie.

"Harry and Clara Watson?" She asked in a heavy, French accent.

"That's right."

"Room is on the fourth floor, room four-oh-six. If you need anything, just call."

"Thank you so much. It's my first time in France! Can you believe it? I can't. I mean, I've lived so close all my life, but never came. It's lovely, perfect for our honeymoon!" Molly gushed. She contemplated batting her eyelashes at her faux-husband, but decided against it. The receptionist gave them a confused smile and pointed them to the lifts.

"I'm impressed." Sherlock told her once they were alone in the lift. "That was somehow exactly like you and nothing like you at all."

Molly blushed. "Is that a compliment or an insult?"

"I don't know. Neither?"

The lift clattered to a halt and they stepped out.

Their room was normal hotel quality: tiny bathroom, large mirror, and a double bed that made Molly's stomach do cartwheels.

"So," she said, flopping onto it and trying to seem nonchalant. "Harry Watson – isn't that John's sister?"

"Yes. Clara was her wife, until Harry left her." Sherlock said. "Don't look at me like that, it wasn't supposed to cast any symbolic shadow on the future of our relationship. It was just easy."

"Of course. I know. I'm just going to get ready for bed now..." Molly said, already making her way towards the loo.

Twenty minutes and a shower later, Molly was lying in bed, Sherlock next to her, both of them staring at the ceiling.

"So, you disposed of the lingerie that Ms Adler bought you?" He asked, his mouth threatening to turn up into a smirk.

"How did you know about-"

"Our host dropped some very obvious hints at dinner last night. Even if she hadn't, I know her ways and if she _hadn't_ bought them, I'd be shocked."

Molly blushed and turned over to face the wall.

"So you kept them. Interesting." He really did smirk now.

"Shut up. They were expensive. I felt bad getting rid of them." She said, sounding annoyed.

"Of course. It would be a crime to waste the pants Irene bought you with a miniscule fraction of her large fortune. Do you mind if I have a cigarette?" He pulled one out, twiddling it in his long fingers.

Molly sighed. "I'd rather you didn't, honestly."

"All right." Sherlock's tone was surprisingly amicable as he put the cigarette away.

"Why do you try to embarrass me so often?" She asked after a few moments of silence.

Sherlock paused for a few moments, thinking. "Because you're very pretty when you blush." He said finally, in such a tone that Molly couldn't tell if it was sincerity or sarcasm, although she was inclined to think the latter. Before she could say anything, however, he turned over and clicked off the light, indicating the end of their conversation.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: This is a short chapter, I think, so I'm sorry. I was having trouble writing it because I just wanted to have them kiss and love each other forever and I couldn't do that yet and ugh. Thank you for all your kind words about the last chapters! I'll try to write two chapters tomorrow so that I can upload one over the weekend. xM**

**Disclaimer: Characters aren't mine.**

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"What do we do now?" Molly asked as soon as she was dressed the next morning. She had decided to disregard Sherlock's comment from the night before.

"Well," Sherlock began, taking a bite of the sausage that had arrived on the breakfast tray called up from room service. "We could go out, take a look at the town, see what there is to see..."

"What, just that? No experiments or chasing after a mad man with a gun fetish?" She teased.

"I thought it might be beneficial to see where we are. We'll be here for two days, as Moran isn't scheduled to arrive until Tuesday – he's got a meeting with an old client of Moriarty's."

Molly gave him a look. "How could you possible know that? And don't tell me you just saw his datebook. He can't be that careless."

"You're right, he's not." Sherlock smirked. "But the client was. We're going into town in five minutes, so get your coat. And, perhaps, put on some makeup. You look exactly like yourself but without the horrendous sweaters."

She laughed and rose to follow his instructions, hoping he hadn't meant to insult her appearance, only make a slight on her sweater collection.

Ten minutes later they were walking past boutiques and cafes on what seemed to be the largest street in the town. They had just bought sandwiches and were looking for somewhere to eat them Soon they came across a small park, sat on a bench, and ate.

"It's lovely here, isn't it?" Molly said happily as soon as they were finished.

"Almost as lovely as you." Sherlock replied with a smile. She laughed and made to kiss him on the cheek , but he turned his head at the last moment and caught her lips with his and Molly couldn't tell if it was purposeful or not but she didn't really care because holy shit she was kissing Sherlock Holmes and she didn't want to think about anything else.

All too soon for her liking, he pulled away.

"So, I was thinking for dinner we could go to that little restaurant we passed. What do you think, Clara?"

Molly tried not to let her face fall when she remembered that everything between them was a lie.

"Sounds fantastic!" She said, her tone as cheerful as possible. "Should we eat around eight?"

That evening they lay in bed, totally silent. Molly had a thousand questions bubbling up inside of her that she wished she could ask, starting with what he meant last night.

Finally, Sherlock spoke. "My apologies for what happened. Earlier."

"It's, um, it's fine." She said quietly. "I know that it was just-"

"I've never kissed anyone." He interrupted her. "Not until then. I'm sorry if it was unpleasant." He spoke sharply and he refused to look at her.

"Oh, god, no." She rushed the words out. "You were fine. Great, actually. I almost thought you really meant it." Her laugh was bitter. "What you said yesterday, was that just another lie?"

The detective frowned. "I'm not blind." He said. "You do look very attractive when you blush. But yes, it was a lie. That's not why I say what I do to you. I say it because I have a sick fascination with seeing how far I can push you before you snap, before you get angry. But you're always unfailingly patient and often kind." His tone was soft but the last sentence was full of some sort of amazement.

"I could get mad, if you'd like."

"No. If you hadn't noticed, I've stopped."

She laughed. "You insulted my sense of dress just this morning."

Sherlock finally smiled. "That is because I truly loathe your jumpers."

Molly pulled the sheets up to her chin and all was quiet, until "Why do you put up with me?" Sherlock asked.

Molly thought a moment. "Well, I respect your work..." She said without conviction.

He laughed. "Really, Molly. Plenty of people 'respect' my work and _they_ still get quite angry with me."

She fiddled with the blankets. "Perhaps I'm just naturally more patient?"

"Really," he said with an eye roll. "I'd like the truth, if you don't mind.

"I do." She said, before flicking off the lights.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: So sorry for not updating, it's quite hard for me to write action/fight scenes and the like, even if they're like this. That said, this is probably the worst thing I've written so far, so I'm sorry. Unrelated note: If you were in any way affected by the recent explosions in Boston, I am so sorry. My heart goes out to you and your loved ones, and Boston in general. I love you. xM**

**Disclaimer: Characters etc are not mine.**

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"Do you know where to find Moran?" Molly asked on the day the sniper was meant to be in town.

"Vaguely." Sherlock replied. "It's not very big, this place. Shouldn't be terribly difficult to locate him."

She nodded, but still looked anxious. "What can I do to help?"

"I'd rather not bring you into danger, but I suppose you're not much safer anywhere else. You'll come with me." He told her, twiddling his mobile phone.

She breathed a sigh of relief. "I don't think I could stand not being there, not knowing."

He set the phone on the nightstand. "It'll be fine." He said. "If I survived jumping of a building-" Here he paused and inclined his head towards her to acknowledge her assistance. "I think I'll be able to do this."

He sounded self-assured, but there was something in his tone that worried Molly.

"It'll be fine." She repeated. Suddenly, Sherlock's phone vibrated and he frowned.

"He's here."

"Who told you?"

"While you were making that dinner reservation the other day, I spoke to some people in the part. They agreed to text me when and if they see any hint of our sniper."

Molly laughed. "Already making friends."

Sherlock's face remained solemn. "Homeless network. It's more reliable in London, but... Anyway, we should go to the cafe down the street in five minutes."

In a flash, Molly was grabbing their things, anything at all that they may need to bring down Sebastian Moran.

Moments later, they were out of the hotel, walking as fast as they could without attracting attention.

"That's him." Molly hissed after they had been sitting at the cafe for half an hour. They had chatted aimlessly about some fake friends and had very obviously held hands across the table. "How are you going to get him out of the cafe?"

"You'll see." Was Sherlock's only reply, and it infuriated Molly, but she didn't bother questioning him further.

Fifteen minutes later, when a waiter brought the cheque over to the sniper's table, Sherlock stood up and strode over to the table.

"Sebastian!" He cried, his voice uncharacteristically jovial. "Fancy meeting you here after all these years." He turned to the thin, balding man who must have been Sebastian's client. "Seb and I were friends back in uni. Haven't seen him in ages!" He turned back to the sniper, who looked confused. "I don't think I've seen you since that time at the pool with Jim. What was that, three years ago?" Sebastian scanned Sherlock and then his eyes narrowed in recognition.

"Can't have been more than two." He said with a chuckle. The cheerful noise didn't reach his eyes.

"We should stop by the pub-" Sherlock glanced at the man across the table with an apologetic look. The man gave a nervous smile.

"Nah, it's fine. You two go, they cheque's just come anyhow." He waved the slip of paper. Sherlock thanked him profusely and Sebastian offered a terse nod. The pair stood up and started towards the door before Sherlock paused.

"You wouldn't mind if my wife came with us, would you?" He gestured towards Molly. "We're on our honeymoon, I don't think she'd be too pleased if I run off without her." He relished the look of shock on Sebastian's face as he recognised Molly.

"Honestly, I'd rather it was just you and me." The sniper said through gritted teeth, and Sherlock wondered if he had actually grown to care for her while they were in a 'relationship'.

"Too bad." Sherlock replied, voice low, and signalled to Molly to come with them.

"She's already seen you die once, why make her a part of it again?" Moran asked as they exited the cafe.

Sherlock looked grim. "She asked to be here. And I don't plan on dying this time, if I can help it." He glanced over at the man next to him, deducing. "You seem awfully concerned for her well-being. Don't tell me you've grown to care for her."

"And what if I have? You seem awfully bitter for someone who is supposed to be her husband."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "We're not actually married."

"Obviously. But you should have heard the way she talked about you, her detective who never gave her a second glance. Almost like she was in love with you."

Molly threw him a dirty look and Sherlock tried to ignore this exchange. By now, they were far from the cafe, in a secluded section of a large park.

"That's all irrelevant at the moment. I'd like to get this over with as quickly as possible, to be honest."

Moran smirked. "Of course you would. It frightens you, doesn't it? Being a killer. Your John wouldn't like it, would he? And neither would Miss Molly here. You're on the side of the angels. That's what he said, Jim, up on the roof. I could hear. Never had any idea how you managed to live." He gave an unpleasant smile. "How 'bout it, then? You could tell me how you did it, while you're working up the courage to kill me."

"I don't think I'll have the time for that." Sherlock said, his tone confidant as he put a hand on his gun, but both Molly and Moran saw the tremor in his fingers.

"If we don't, it's because I'll kill you too quickly for conversation. You're scared, aren't you, Mr Holmes? Terrified to pull that trigger." The sniper pulled out a gun. "Any parting remarks to Miss Hooper?" He asked, finger at the ready. "It's really too bad Jim isn't here to witness this. He'd always wanted to be the one who did it, you know? But he's still won, so it doesn't matter." A fanatic gleam was in his eyes now.

Sherlock tried to stare calmly at the gun, which was pointed directly at his head.

"I'm sorry, Molly, for dragging you into all of this."

"It's not your fault." She told him, lip quivering, her hands clasped behind her back.

"You're just giving up? That's no fun, Mr Holmes. No fun at all."

"No, I'm going to kill you, but ass soon as I pull the trigger, you will too. Then we'll both die." Sherlock rationalized, his tone still unfailingly calm.

Sebastian Moran shrugged. "Fair enough." Sherlock gave Molly a final, apologetic glance before turning back to face Moran.

"Nice knowing you, Miss Hooper." Sebastian said with a grin and a lascivious wink.

There was a brief moment of silence, and then the sound of gunfire, before everything went still.

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**A/N: Ohh god, I'm sorry for that. I want so badly to give you the next chapter right now, but I think I'll make you wait. Should be up soon, though, it's almost finished. I love you all very, very much. xM**


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: Oh, god, your comments about the last chapter were wonderful to read. Hugs and kisses for all of you. Hope you enjoy this! It's quite long, it just refused to stop being written and so I tried quite hard to have it ready for you today Shout out to Sammy Katz for being very observant! xM

Disclaimer: I don't even own the shoes I'm wearing. What makes you think I'd own this?

Molly stood there, her hand trembling, as she lowered the gun she held. Sherlock looked at her and then at the corpse behind him in amazement. She let out a small sob.

"Oh, god, oh my god, Sherlock."

His face turned solemn. "Are you all right, Molly?" He asked, grabbing the gun out of her hands and pulling her down to sit on the grass beside him.

Molly nodded. "I think so, yes." Her voice was still tinged with fear. "Just sort of in shock, that's all."

"You shouldn't have-"

"Don't." Molly cut him off. "Don't tell me I shouldn't have because I already did. He would have killed you and I don't think I could have lived with myself if I just stood by, so don't tell me I shouldn't have because there's nothing you or I can do to change it now."

He nodded. "I suppose thanks are in order. This is the second time you've saved my life."

"You're welcome." She twiddled with the hem on her dress. "So, I suppose you can go back to London now, back to 221B."

"Oh." Sherlock sounded slightly surprised at the suggestion. He hadn't really thought about it since they had arrived in the town. "Yes, I suppose you're right. We'll leave tomorrow afternoon." His tone was brisk. "Until then, you're still Clara, of course."

"Of course." Molly replied. "When we get back, could you please not tell anyone about..." she gestured to the body.

"I doubt you'd serve time for it, but perhaps it's for the best." He allowed and took her arm. "We should go back now. We can pack our things and order dinner up to our room."

They sat on the floor of their hotel room, eating chicken with some sort of buttery sauce and sipping from glasses of wine. They were silent, for the most part. No one wanted to breach the topic of their afternoon.

"Molly, thank you. For everything. And I'm sorry for dragging you away from your home and making you play Clara. And, above all, I'm sorry that you had to save my life. Thank you." Sherlock finally spoke, dropping his fork onto his plate and leaning back. His posture was casual but the apology sounded oddly formal coming from him.

"Oh, er- Thanks, I suppose. Or rather, you're welcome. Or-" Molly let her sentence drift off. "I mean, I've really enjoyed the past week or so." She thought back to their kiss in the park and the nights where she had watched as his eyes closed and heard his breath even as he fell asleep and she lay awake.

"Ah. Yes, well, so have I." He said, sounding slightly embarrassed at this small confession.

"Right." She nodded. "I suppose I'll just get ready for bed, then."

He turned to a book and she began rummaging through her suitcase for her pyjamas. She was about to grab her normal sleepwear when she noticed the lingerie that Irene Adler had insisted upon buying her.

Could she put it on? She was tempted to, to see if Sherlock would noticed, if he would say anything. Before she could think about it any longer, she snatched them up, along with her toothbrush, and dashed to the bathroom.

When she finally got up the courage to tiptoe out, her face was beet red. She was slightly relieved when she saw that he was sitting in bed, still reading, his back facing her. She quickly dove under the blankets and tried to look natural.

"You can relax, Molly." Sherlock said after a moment had passed. "I can practically feel your face burning."

"Sorry." She croaked, shifting uncomfortably.

"And I know you're wearing that lingerie, I saw you take it out of your case."

Molly gave another embarrassed squirm. "I wasn't trying to- I didn't mean-"

"I know."

They lay in silence, and then, "What Moran said earlier, it wasn't true of course, was it?" He asked.

"Which part?" She bit her lip.

"About, um, where you talked about me- to him." His sentence was choppy and vague, he sounded incredibly nervous.

Molly hesitated. "No, of course not. Of course not." She gave an unconvincing smile, and then-

For the second time, Sherlock's lips were on hers and she could no longer thing about Sebastian Moran, or the revealing garments she happened to be wearing, or anything else for that matter.

After what may have been minutes, or hours, or several sunlit days, they broke apart, both of them gasping.

"Molly Hooper, you are a terrible liar." Sherlock laughed.

"Am I?" She replied with a weak smile. "Well, you're a terrible-" She broke off, thinking, and Sherlock smirked when she was unable to come up with anything.

"What possessed you to wear the lingerie?" He asked her, his expression amused.

"What possessed you to kiss me?" She retorted.

"I asked first."

She sighed. "I had them, and I was wondering what you'd say, if you'd even notice. Since this is our last night, I figured that any embarrassments or repercussions could easily be forgotten. But you didn't seem to notice, and I was embarrassed anyway."

"Of course I noticed." He replied. "I always notice."

Molly blushed again. "Oh." She mumbled, and then "Right, well, it's your turn."

"Why did I kiss you? I wanted to prove that you were lying about what Moran said." Her face fell slightly. "And," he added "I very much enjoyed our kiss the other day. Why did you kiss back?" He knew the answer, of course he knew the answer, but he wanted to hear her say it.

"You'll have to give me more wine than this if you expect an honest answer." Her response caused Sherlock to start towards the wine bottle and glasses that they had left out.

"No, I don't need anymore." She told him, laughing, but he passed her a glass anyway, and she took a sip.

"What are you going to do when you get home?" He asked instead as she sipped.

"Feed my cat, call work to apologise, and watch a film. Just normal sorts of things. Are you worried about going back to John?"

"Yes." He admitted. "I think constantly about what will have changed, how he'll react when he sees me, if he'll even believe it's me. How many boyfriends have you had since I 'died'?"

"Seven. None lasted more than a week. What did you want to be when you were a child?" It was clearly turning into some sort of 'truth or drink' game, except Sherlock hadn't taken any alcohol.

"A pirate." He answered, completely serious, and Molly laughe. "Why didn't the boyfriends last?"

"Oh." Molly paused, thinking. "Well, they weren't really my type. Have you ever dated?"

"No, I don't believe I have. What is 'your type,' then?"

"I don't know." Molly said quickly, too quickly. "Why did you sleep with Irene Adler?"

He was silent for a long while. "I was curious." He said at last. "That, and she very nearly died. She wanted to, I thought it might have a positive effect on her emotions or something like that. It was... enjoyable, I suppose, but not romantic. Which was why you were my first kiss. Why did you sleep with Irene?"

Molly's blush deepened. "She was very kind, actually, and very good at what she does. That, and she was-" she took a gulp of wine before continuing. "She reminded me of someone." The last but was mumbled, but he heard it anyway. "Were you and John ever... romantically involved?"

"Of course not." He looked vaguely annoyed. "Why did you _not_ sleep with Jim Moriarty?"

Molly stared into the depths of her wineglass for a long time. When she finally replied, her voice was quiet, hardly more than a whisper. "We were both too in love with the same person." She set her wineglass down very carefully and stared at the ceiling.

They were both quiet, and then Sherlock made a move as if to touch her hand, but then seemed to think better of it.

"Molly, I-"

"No, it's fine." She cut him off. "I know that the feeling isn't mutual. That's why I was reluctant to tell you." The words were rushing out of her mouth so quickly that it was a wonder Sherlock could understand her. "I know you're married to your work, and that's-"

"Molly, shut _up_." Sherlock said vehemently, and then kissed her, hard.

_For god's sake, why did he never warn her?_ She thought to herself. _Although it's not as if I mind._ She was now hyperaware of her choice of sleepwear, especially now that Sherlock's right hand was on her overexposed shoulder, his left around her waist, burning through the thin fabric. God, that sounded cliche.

"Would you believe it if I told you that the feeling was completely mutual?" He asked when they had finally broken apart.

"Oh, god." She took a shuddery breath. "Yes. Yes, I would definitely believe you."

Sherlock gave a satisfied grin. "Good, because it's true."

Molly smiled and snaked her hand down to place it over his, which still rested on her waist.

"You had to have known I had the gun, yet you were so prepared to die." She said, sobering the mood slightly.

"I didn't want to force you to become a killer against your will."

"You'd honestly have rather died?"

Sherlock shrugged. "If you weren't going to kill him, then yes, of course."

"You're ridiculous." Molly told him, but her tone was fond. "There's absolutely no way that I wouldn't have killed that asshole, if not doing so meant losing you." Again with the sentiment and sappy feelings. "I mean, the same would go for any friend, really. He wasn't a pleasant bloke."

"No, he wasn't, was he?" Sherlock gave a laugh.

"So, home tomorrow?" Molly said, not sure if she was pleased about this or not.

"Yes, I think so. Unless you'd like to stay?

"As nice as it is here, I think home would be very good."

Sherlock nodded. "Before we leave, there are some things I'd like for us to do, actually.

"Oh, really?" Molly gave him a curious look.

"I mean, if you'd like to..."

She tried to bite back a smile, failing, when she realised what he meant. "Of course I'd like to."

This time, when this kissed, Molly was ready for it, ready for the burning sensation that his hands brought as they travelled over fabric, under, and her hands traced a similar map over his pale skin.

When they finally fell asleep, it was late. They did so with their fingers intertwined, a quiet smile on Molly's lips.

A/N: God, this bit killed me. My kissing scenes are so awkward because I've never been kissed. So if anyone wants to volunteer for a test... Just kidding. Anywho, I hope you're happy. I know I am. *fuzzy feelings, fuzzy jimjams* xM

update: Ye who ask about Molly sleeping with Irene, it's hinted at in a chapter 2 when they meet.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: I think this is the end. I was at work and I was thinking about it, feeling a bit sentimental, but this may be really the end. But! I think there will be a sequel. It may be disappointing because I despise writing Sherlock as a boyfriend/husband (that and sequels can be disappointing in general). I am ridiculous. But we will see what happens. This story-writing with all of your (hopefully unironic) enthusiasm for this story brightens my day every day. I love you all. xM**

* * *

The train ride back to London was quiet. They didn't talk about what had happened the night before, by some sort of silent agreement, but the atmosphere between them was relaxed.

Sherlock glared when he saw Mycroft's car waiting for him at the train station. Molly told herself that she shouldn't be surprise that Mycroft knew. Of course Mycroft knew.

"I guess I'll see you later." Molly gave Sherlock a smile and made to hail a taxi.

"No, actually, you're coming with." He grabbed her hand and pulled her towards the car.

It was, mercifully, empty. Apparently Mycroft's assistant had better things to do than drive around with a dead man and a runaway pathologist.

The car took them along a roof that was increasingly familiar to Molly and, it would seem, to Sherlock as well.

"Why are we going to my flat?" Molly muttered to Sherlock, who shrugged.

Her flat was in the same condition it had been when they left, which she found surprising even though there was no reason for it to have changed. The single difference was that there was currently one Mycroft Holmes sitting in her kitchen, sipping her tea, out of her best mug.

"Ah, Miss Hooper." He gave her an ingratiating smile. "Thank you for allowing me the use of your flat."

"I- I didn't." Molly stammered as she was handed a mug of tea. Mycroft's only response to this was a slight frown.

"Sherlock, I told you not to go after Sebastian Moran. We had people trailing him."

"Clearly your people aren't very good, are they?"

Mycroft raised an eyebrow. "Perhaps not, but you could have been killed. Your death would have completely put to waste our careful planning over the past year."

The detective rolled his eyes. "Whatever."

Molly bit back a laugh at how much they sounded like bickering five-year-olds. Perhaps with a larger vocabulary.

Mycroft turned from Sherlock to her. "Our deepest gratitude for saving my idiot brother's life. Twice."

She fidgeted with the spoon in the tea she had been given. "Oh, um, it wasn't a big deal." She told him, trying not to look him in the eye. "I- I'd have done the same with anyone..."

"Be careful, Miss Hooper." Mycroft said, his voice low. "He has never been good at relationships of any sort. Don't expect this to be any different."

"I'm sorry, I never said anything about-" Molly began, but he laughed.

"I'm at least as observant as my brother, not that that would be necessary for that particular deduction. Make sure to look at your neck next time you're in front of a mirror."

She blushed and he turned back to Sherlock.

"I expect you'll be wanting to see John soon. I'd be careful, he's a bit fragile at the moment, emotions-wise. I'm sure he would be a near match to you in a fist fight."

Sherlock rolled his eyes but agreed. "I'll go as soon as you take leave of Molly's flat. You can't just go about breaking and entering. Mummy wouldn't like it."

How'd things go with John? xM

Quite well, actually. I managed to deflect his punch and he eventually believed it was me. SH

That's good. xM

Yes. And Lestrade phoned, he's got a case for me. I hope you haven't been fired because I'll need to run some tests at the lab tomorrow. SH

Nope, not fired. I'll be there all day. xM

Excellent. SH

Goodnight, Sherlock. xM

[No reply.]


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